Shades of the Past
by Kellnoa's Sorrow
Summary: Though the past has the power to imprison one's soul, does it also have the power to save it? A young boy hopes to find that answer as he journies through Camreon Island to find his past. [Chapter 4]
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The author claims no right to the Pokémon characters in this fanfic, which are the copyrighted property of Nintendo. All original characters and lands in this fanfic belong solely to the author. 

A/N: Okay, so after something like two or three years of writers block..., I've decided to pick this story back up, which hopefully I'll be able to finish this time since I have so many new ideas for it than originally planned. So now here is the the updated rewrite of a rewrite, Shades of the Past (now with a prologue!).

**Shades of the Past  
**by Kellnoa's Sorrow

_Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.  
__Wisely improve the present. __It is thine.  
Go forth to meet__the shadowy future, without fear.  
__- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882_

**Prologue**

They had come without warning, fear and death quick to follow into the depths of the night. Not a sound was made nor a blade disturbed as they had made their way into the village, like the shadows that crept as the moon traveled its path. In some ways they were shadows, or at the least savages, as some who had the misfortuned of surviving would come to call them; they had to have been soulless, possessing no remnants of humanity, in order to arouse such atrocity without guilt or conscience, but pleasure and indifference. Nevertheless, their presence, however daunting, remained unknown for quite some time, so for the villagers it was one night out of many, no different from any other that consituted their uniform little world.

And now that world was turning to ash, quite literally from the perspective of one young girl. She was frightened beyond belief as she cowered in the corner of her closet, screaming for her mother. She looked on through the slits of the shingled door with horror as she saw her once beautiful room destroy itself, the pink and white color of the walls completely obscured by the dancing orange glow of flames. The bed in which she had slept soundly only hours before, the toys of which she had forgotten to put away, her belongings, her life...they were all alight, food for the fire that inched towards her haven. Add to the fact that she could hear the terrified screams of friends and neighbors just beyond the wall behind her, and she was, quite literally, in hell.

All she could do was cry out to a mother that would not, and for that matter could not, come at the top of her voice; it was now nothing more than a horse whisper, having been scorched by the searing heat. The situation seemed hopeless as she tried to push her back further into the wall, the flames just outside the wooden door. In mere moments, she would be dead.

Yet through all this, she continued to grasp a strangely shaped plush toy to her chest, the only thing that brought her some comfort in these last moments of her life. It resembled a lapras, taken from her favorite book _The Littlest Lapras_, which her mother had helped her to make. Due to a mistake, it was light green, with a short stubby neck on a broad body. Its four flippers did not match in size, and its head did not have a horn characteristic to the species. In addition, there was no actuall shell since they couldn't find the right material to make one, so the girl had cut faces from photos she had, and pasted them onto the plush's back into the shape of a shell. It didn't look like much when the girl was done, but she had made it, and it possessed bits of her family and friends. It was good enough for her, even at this point in her life.

Just as the closet door burst into flames and she had given up all hope, she saw a dark figure step into the room; the sight of another person lifted her spirits. As he made his way into the room, the flames consuming the carpet seemed to recede in front of him as though in the presence of power, creating a safe path that led right to the closet door. He follwed that path, and before the little girl knew it, the door was open, and the figure stared down at her.

At first she was relieved that someone had finally come to get her, perhaps to take her somewhere far from the nightmare that surrounded her. A place where she would be reunited with her family, free to live out the remainder of their lives without having to deal with tragedies similar to the one that befell her town.

She looked up at his face with a smile, but she did not recieve one in return. In fact, she couldn't see any features of his face at all; facing the closet with the only light coming from behind, she could only make out the faint orange glow that was reflected in his eyes. It made her feel uncomfortable, and her smile disappeared.

She whimpered when she saw something emerge from behind his legs. A pair of red eyes remained fixed onto her, both set in a long and narrow head covered in cream colored fur, as was the rest of its body. The ninetails, if the girl wasn't mistaken, seemed excited in the midst of the flames, its fur appearing rough or stiff, a rather feral look, as though each strand were on its end.

The figure stepped back before giving a command to his pokémon, who gave a quick nod in return before opening its maw in attack. The interior began to glow a bright red, flames slowly licking the corners of its mouth.

"No...please..." she barely whispered, pleading to the figure with frightened eyes.

It did no good. The figure simply gave the command before the pokémon let loose a stream of fire aimed right at her. She screamed for the first several seconds, after which it finally died down. And so it was for many of the villagers....

Loved ones lost, friends torn asunder, it was a night to surely be remembered....

**E N D P R O L O G U E : S H A D E S O F T H E P A S T**


	2. Chapter 1: Affliction of the Wicked

**Shades of the Past  
**by Kellnoa's Sorrow

**Chapter I  
**Affliction of the Wicked

There was a particularly ominous feel to the air that day. In place of the fiery evening sun, masses of billowing dark clouds, interrupted by the occasional flash of lightning and thunder soon after, reigned in its stead. From the northern Angean Sea, just beyond the forested cliffs of northern Westarim, came strong ocean breezes, tainted with the aromoa of sweet ocean salt, that howled as they weaved themselves between the densely populated trees in an effort to reach the interior lands beyond the forest edge. Along with the wind, there also came an autumn chill that would cause most people to shiver before drawing their clothes closer to their bodies, teasingly reminding them that summer was long over and winter not far off.

Though it had just begun to pour, the young boy felt indifferent to it, putting forth no effort to shield himself from the rain or wind. Instead, he stood there amongst the stormy chaos, dangerously close to the edge of a cliff that led to a rocky beach far below, with strong waves that washed against the shore in a broken rythm. The only thing he did was continually twirl the single flower that lay between two of his fingers. With a blank expression masking the emotions he felt, his sad eyes were focused on the dark shape before him.

In front of him stood a towering oak tree, dark and slick with the pellets of rain that continually bombarded it. The gold and red autumn leaves, awesome and vibrant in the sun, seemed dull and dead in the darkness of the clouds, eerily shaking in the wind in protest. In lieu of the storm, the tree gave off an air of death, perfect for its service as a natural tombstone for the coffin that was entwined within its roots deep in the earth.

Despite the presence of a coffin, he knew that it was completely empty, save for the single photograph of his late older brother. His body was located elsewhere, most likely at the bottom of the sea where he had perished. His death had occured two years earlier, but the events of that day were crystal clear in the mind of the younger sibling left behind.

The boy had loved his brother very much, as they used to be very close despite the three year age difference. And in some ways, he still did. However, he also housed a deep hatred for what his brother had done to both himself and his family. His brother's death had shaken his family to no end, and two years later they still hadn't fully recovered from their loss. Their mother still cried, especially late at night, when she suspected everyone else was asleep, or appeared to be. Their younger sister had occasional nightmares, though that didn't stop her from trying to be optimistic for her family. Their father, since then, had tried to stay strong and provide a pillar of support for his family, but it was apparent in his eyes that even he couldn't escape the effects of the tragedy.

But the boy had probably taken it the hardest. After the tragic event, the youth seemed to have given up on life istelf. Since then, he didn't smile as much as he did in his younger years, and he rarely held any joyous expressions like he used to. The majority of his wardrobe consisted of dark clothes, which he had worn everyday for the past year and a half. In fact, it wasn't out of respect or tradition that he wore a black suit to his brother's grave - it was more out of habit, as he wasn't the type to follow tradition.

Because of his ghastly appearance, he never made much, if any, friends. He always wore a serious look on his face, and hardly spoke at all, even when he was being spoken to. Many people were too scared of him to befriend him, and rather teased him instead, though he didn't care much at all. He didn't care about the looks they gave him, or the rumors that spread about him. They didn't understand.

Standing there, he gave no notice of his short, limp black hair that flailed about him in the wind, occasionally obscuring his vision, hair so black that it accentuated his dark personality and appearance. The only thing that seemed out of place to most people where his pale blue-green eyes that frequently betrayed him in terms of what he was feeling or experiencing. His most captivating feature, they were always distant as though he were worlds away, and dulled by the amount of guilt he had placed on himself during the years. Since the incident, he had continually blamed himself for his brother's death, that it was entirely his fault.

That was why he was occasionally haunted by his brother's ghost.

Despite this, as well as the way he acted, there weren't many people who believed him. Not his parents nor his sister, not even his therapist. They all aclaimed that it was an illusion, a product of his severe depression and feelings of guilt for which he had no right to feel. They claimed that therapy and medication would help, that the "illusion" would eventually rid itself of his psyche, and that he would eventually become better enough to "rejoin society in a perfectly healthy way." It would all come in time. But the sessions and the medication and all the support he recieved never helped in the slightest of ways. His brother's ghost would continue to appear, his appearance exactly as it was when the boy last saw him.

"Travis," he wispered softly, the sound barely audible over the howling of the wind. "Travis...under different circumstances, this would have been the last time I would have visited you, especially like this. For two years, I've been suffering day in and day out, along with Mom, Dad, and Tamissa. After all this time, we are still grieving over your death. Every day..."

"Everyday, I wanted to believe that I was in a dream - no, a nightmare - and that I would finally wake up any second to find that we were a family again, no death, no sadness, no troubles. But I've never woken up, and the more I stay dreaming, the more realistic and unbearable this life just seems to get."

The boy stole a quick glance over his shoulder, towards the edge of the cliff he stood on before he continued. "But just recently, I've been having thoughts that could possibly liberate me from this nightmarish hell, and, hopefully, give me the chance to see you again." He took a small step back towards the empty air. "Free of the sadness." He took another step. "Free of the depression." He took another step. "Free of the medication...the emotions...the past...the future...free of _you_." He took several more steps back, the last taking him to the jagged edge of the ground. A few stray pieces of rock and soil managed to free themselves from the earth, only to tumble to the rocky bottom.

"But then I realized what I would be doing, not just to me, but to our family. Unlike you, I've thought of the impact my actions could have on others. For all I know, my death could possibly cause _my _mother to die fromt the heartache of losing two children, _my _father to abandon my family, and _my _sister to grow up alone with the knowledge that she has two dead brothers, one dead mother, and one father who harbors no feelings for her whatsoever."

With a gradual raise in volume, the boy's semi-deep voice began to quake. "But what about you? What were you thinking when you decided to risk your life for mine?! Did you realize that you would leave behind a mother who often weeps for her firstborn, a father who tries and fails to help his family cope with your death, a sister who is nocturnally traumatized about her dead brother, and a brother who can't cope with your actions, who is almost willing to kill himself if it meant an escape from his problems?!" Slow tears began to coarse down his face, only to quickly dissapate by the heavily pouring rain. "I'm not worth saving..." he whispered. As he cried, he took a step toward the grave, away from the cliff edge.

"I'm not worth saving...you should have just let me die...if I had, I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of a broken family, of not having hope for my future! I should have been the one to die, the one lucky enough to rest in peace!" The flower in the boy's hands began to bend awkwardly at the stem between his fingers, before finally ripping it to shreds and tossing it to the ground.

His mind snapped, his voice screaming, his eyes filled with hot rage, he raced towards the base of the tree, where he fell to his knees to momentarily glance at the small menagerie of fresh flowers brought in by other mourners throughout the day. His trembling hands soon found themseves tearing at the flowers, some buried in the soil, some wrapped in decorated paper. His hands, clothes, shoes, and even his face soon became covered in soil, but the raging storm of conflicting emotions within him continued to bellow, keeping him blind to the mess; they were the least of his worries. He was on a high, his mind only set on the fact that he had been denied happiness and normality, all because of his brother's actions.

Within a few minutes, his actions began to slow, his sorrow-filled rage quickly subsiding. Taking a few deep breaths, occasionally choking as he sobbed, he was too afraid to look at the damage he had caused. He had no memory of his physical agony, having "blacked out" and now just awoken. But he knew that deep inside he had done something seriously worng. Anytime he blacked out during periods of intense emotion, he always awoke to a horrible aftermath with no recollection of the evetns that had transpired, similar to what had occured at that moment.

He hoped against hope that the damage was minimal as he viewed his handiwork, only to gasp in shock. As his eyes fell upon tattered petals and broken stems, a wave of guilt washed over him, intense to the point of nausea. In addition, the words engraved in the tree, the ones that had read "R.I.P., Travis Trouleway, Who gave his life for another", were deeply scratched to the point where half of the writing was unreadable. He couldn't comprehend how he had caused this damage to wood, with no sharp objects around save for his dirtied, bloodied fingers.

Had he done what he just did? Had he just tried to ruin his brother's grave, to disrespect his memorial? To disrespect Travis himself? His body began to tremble as the realization hit him. The tears in his eyes began to fall even faster, blurring his vision to the point where everything was a blur, all the same, blackish color. Or maybe it was just his eyes closed.

Whatever the reason, his sorrow and the surrounding storm helped to obscure the presence of a lone, dark bird flying high in the sky, the sole witness to the boy's actions. In the instant that followed, a fierce bolt of unfathomable power ripped through the tree-grave right before the boy with a loud crack, the ensuing force propelling him to within a few feet of the cliff's edge. It was followed by a small torrent of wooden shards that embedded themselves into his flesh at an alarming speed.

Moments passed like an eternity before he attempted to lift himself from the ground, only to scream in protest before crumbling to the ground. Any slight movement he made was rewarded by a searing pain that spread through his entire being, a pain completely unbearable for one his age. Nevertheless, he slowly managed to shift his arm just enough so as not to obscure his vision, allowing his eyes to rest upon the horrific scene before him. As he did, his heart sank, and he fought the urge to vomit.

Before him laid the shattered remains of his brother's grave; once a towering tree that had survived for many ages, it was now nothing more than a charred, crumbling stump. All in a matter of seconds...even less. It was vigorously aflame, as were several other trees in the surrounding vicinity. With horror, he realized that the trees weren't the only things on fire; there were flames in every direction, blocking any means of escape save for the long plummet into the sea below him. That was _if_ her were lucky enough to avoid the rocks below. But even that option seemed dismal at best, as the fall would most likely prove fatal from his current height.

Aided by the adrenaline pounding through his veins, briefly numbing his pain, he managed to stand on one knee, his arms dangling at his sides, his face wrought with fear. His face was alight with the glow of the flames which slowly inched in his directions, despite the heavy bombardment of rain.

As the flames closed in on him, he scrambled on his hands and knees towards the rocky edge, tears flowing down his dirt-covered face. In the back of his mind he prayed to whatever deity existed that he might be spared, forgiven for whatever sin he had committed, because anything else would lead to his demise.

Slowly standing at the very edge, with his body protesting in pain and his eyes aglow in an orange haze, the twelve year old took a glimpse over his shoulder towards the rocky beach below. It was a _very_ long drop. He had the choice of either burning to death, or jumping to be impaled, as the ocean was much too far for him to jump given his condition. Unfortunately, the choice was not his to make as the fire leapt at him at that moment, eagerly consuming his flesh. Releasing a guttural scream that shook him to the bone, he reacted on instinct and futilely tried to put the flames out. The sudden movement caused his injured body to lean back and lose its balance. In seconds he was in mid-air, still engulfed in flames and plummeting to his death.

As his mind began to go into shock, his body screaming unbeknownst to his failing consciousness, some part of Ryan Trouleway wondered if he would ever be waking up from the sleep that soon claimed him.

**E N D C H A P T E R O N E**


	3. Chapter 2: The Ties That Bind

**Shades of the Past  
**by Kellnoa

**Chapter II  
**The Ties That Bind

Three figures surrounded the hospital bed, one containing the unfortunate boy who had somehow ended up in a comatose condition, and it was quite likely that they would never know what had happened.

Ryan's mother was the one who was kneeling next to the bed, her hand gently clasped around the singed right hand of her son, even though he could not feel it. Her head was buried in the sheets that surrounded him, silently sobbing that he would be okay, that he would survive this ordeal. She had no idea what she would do if he did die, similar to the situation with her first son. When he had died, she had been depressed for weeks, neglecting the other immediate members of her family for some time. After realizing how selfish she had been towards her family, who was also suffering, she tried to place the past behind her and made an effort to restore the household back to normalcy. However, during that period, she constantly contemplated how her son, out of all the people that populated this world, was the one that had to die. She had felt for a long time that it was her fault, as she was the one who had suggested that he pause his pokémon journey to join the family in celebrating his brother's birthday. She had regretted that decision ever since, and she had hoped that she would never make the same mistake ever again.

But now, here was her son, lying lifeless, with only the advanced medical machinery to keep him alive. She cried even harder, as she realized that she had made the same mistake twice. That morning, just two days prior. The anniversary of her first son's death. The twelfth birthday of her second son. He had asked not to visit his brother's grave that morning, but she had insisted that he go whether he liked it or not. And now, here he was, nearly dead, with a quarter of the upper half of his body badly burned, puncture wounds around various parts of his body, and a seriously injured leg. She just couldn't get over the fact that she had made the same mistake again. She squeezed his hand more than she wanted to as she wondered if she would be doing the same to her last child, her only daughter.

Ryan's father awkwardly stood right next to his bed, his eyes resting upon his wife's shuddering head. He was gently stroking her chestnut-colored hair with his calloused right hand, an unsuccessful attempt to both soothe and comfort her. He knew it wouldn't work, for when a mother's child is on the brink of death, she can not force herself to think of anything else, and no comfort can be brought to her. He felt as though he should be doing more for her, but he was at a loss for thought.

He took another look at his son, and instantly felt a surge of sadness rise within him. Ryan's black eyebrows and black hair, the same black hair that he had inherited from his father, was gone, replaced by a large pale scalp, the same color that seemed to cover the rest of his body. The deathly paleness of his skin, along with his lack of facial expression, and the still form of his son's body, gave the illusion that he was already dead.

The father stole another look at the reddish-black "burns", as he was convinced, that ran from his right collar bone, under the sheets, and down to his leg, which included his right arm. The father knew, being a scientist, that the burn would most likely turn into a large scar, if there were the slim chance that his son managed to survive this ordeal. He also knew that a burn of that degree would seriously affect the motor nerves that not only controlled his right arm, but possibly his right leg. There was a chance, as the doctors informed, that he would never be able to use that side of his body again. And that pained the father deeply, that his son might have to live through life with a permanent disability, when he secretly knew that his son craved normality. That was _if_ he survived.

The pain was so engraved in him as a father that it began to minifest itself at the corner of his eye. As the man slowly reached up to his eye, he realized what it was. It was tears. His tears. Tears on a man who hated to cry, because it enhanced his sorrow tenfold, which always made him feel uncomfortable. He was crying for his son. But why was he crying now, if he hadn't cried fro Travis, his firstborn? He came to the conclusion that maybe it was because he had a chance to see Ryan's body, and not Travis'. Or maybe it was because there was a chance that his son could live in pain and torment while he knew that Travis was resting in peace. Or maybe he didn't know.

Sadness, Grief, Pity, Guilt. Despair, Loneliness, Longing, Hope. Anxiety, Anger, Fury, Fear. All those emotions seemed to hang in the air of the hospital room, brought about by the four occupants that were in the room. But at the same time, they all seemed to encase themselves around the young girl that sat at the side of her fallen brother, opposite of her parents. They hugged her body tight as they began to make their way in her, creeping through every pore of her body, the astounding amount of ambiguous emotions wrecking havoc from within.

Outside, Tamissa had shown no signs of feelings for her brother, She had not yet shed a tear of sadness, not even a wrinkle of worry. She was too busy trying to discern one emotion from the next, finding the task hard with the amount she felt. She couldn't undersand why she felt this way, why she felt feelings that she normally didn't feel. She couldn't understand it at all. The only thing she knew was where each emotion had originated from. The sadness and grief came from everyone except for Ryan. The despairw loneliness, and hope came from everyone, including Ryan, even though he remained unconscious. The guilt came from both her parents, while the pity only came from her father. Strangely, the longing, anxiety, anger, and fury all came from Ryan, though she couldn't tell why.

The only thing she wasn't sure of was the fear. Fear had always been confusing to her, as it seemed to come from both one and many persons at the same time. It was an emotion that fluctuated continually, and although she was only eight years old, she figured that it was because it caused people to expect and believe for the worst, though naturally, people would try to fight it off in an act of optimism.

Fear seemed to be the strongest emotion in the room, as it tried to force everyone in the room to expect the worst for Ryan, though they tried to reassure themselves that he would pull through. And Tami was no different.

Her fear was that she would lose Ryan, just like she had lost Travis. She didn't want to lose another brother; that was why she often tried to spend as much time as possible trying to be with him, to stand by his side and encourage him, to be there for him. And even though he didn't show it much, she knew that he felt the same about her. The thought of losing him now...it would have been unbearable for her. If he died, she would have no one with whom to share a bond similar to the one that they shared presently.

As the thought passed, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, "Don't leave me..."

**(-o-)**

Ryan awoke to a surprise that nearly shocked him to death, if by a slim chance he had managed to survive. The last thing he could remember were the flames that were consuming him as he plummited towards the rocky shore.

Ryan took in his new surroundings in awe, initially wondering if this was what the afterlife truly ressembled. Below him, the aquamarine waters of the Angean Sea, the sea that laid between Northarim and Westarim, gently lapped up against the rusting reddish-white hull of a large boat, which registered in Ryan's mind for reasons unknown as the _Eisa_. Above him, the sky was hidden by a blanket of grayish-white clouds that churned on endlessly, imitating the actions of its watery counterpart. And in between the two, the unique salty smell of the ocean and the damp smell of the cloudy day danced together to concoct a natural but powerful scent that was unlike any other.

Taking in all that he was experiencing, despite the last remnants of his memory, left Ryan both shocked and confused, though he was also genuinely content for his safety. But the biggest shock came from the person standing on the deck beside him with a smile on his face. The person with the short mahogony brown hair that flew in every direction with the wind. The person with his arm over Ryan's shoulders, taking in the scenery with his concealing hazel eyes. The person that should have been dead at the bottom of the sea for the past two years. The person who possessed the name of Travis Trouleway.

The somehow resurrected older brother turned his head toward his younger brother, looking at him with eyes that were impenetrable, set in a face that had been missing for years, but had not been forgotten. "If you lean on the rail any farther, Ry, you're going to fall in the water. Probably get hit by the boat too. Not that it would be a bad thing and all."

Ryan couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. He tried not to believe it. He didn't want to believe it. His brother was dead, and was supposed to remain that way for all eternity, not casually standing in front of him on the deck of a boat as though the events of the past two years had not occured.

As he stared at the bizarre sight, a few words emerged from when he had visited Travis' grave:

"_Everyday, I wanted to believe that I was in a dream - no, a nightmare - and that I would finally wake up any second to find that we were a family again, no death, no sadness, no troubles. But I've never woken up, and the more I stay dreaming, the more realistic and unbearable this life just seems to get. But just recently, I've been having thoughts that could possibly liberate me from this nightmarish hell, and, hopefully, give me the chance to see you again._"

"_Did I finally wake up?_" he wondered, amazed that he could have possibly been right in his "dream". "_Was it all just a horrible nightmare? Or am I still dreaming..._" His thoughts aroused suspicion as to whether this world he was in were real or not. But the sounds of the water, the smell of the sky and sea, the mere gentle rocking of the boat were much too real to have been dreamt up. So was his brother...that voice was too clear to be made up by the mind. He couldn't possibly be dreaming...

As the shock began to wear off, a smile, one that had been absent for two years, began to spread across his face. All traces of the anger and hatred he once held for his deceased brother had vanished. In its absence came an irresistible urge to give his brother a great big hug, and so with a feeling of pure elation, he tried to hug his brother. _Tried_.

To his horror, he discovered that he possessed little control over his own body. Even though it was moving, Ryan himself appeared to be in a state of paralysis, trapped within his own mind. No matter how much energy and concentration he exerted into moving his arms and legs, or even to blink, nothing would respond. Thus he began to panic.

His voice was no different. He could feel the muscles flexing and stretching in his mouth, about to be used, but he could do nothing about it. He watched on helplessly as a prisoner in his own body, feeling a great loneliness wash over him, as his body began to speak on its own.

"Would you stop calling me Ry? I hate that name," came his voice, tinted with a false display of anger. Gods, how he missed bying called Ry right now. It was a long time private joke between the two brothers.

"The only way that I'd ever stop calling you Ry is if I ever forgot your name, and the chances of that happening is zilch." Travis paused for a moment, then continued. "However, since today is your tenth birthday, I think I can lay off on the 'Ry' for today. That okay with you?"

Ryan gave a happy nod of approval, oblivious to the rapid thoughts that raced through his own mind. If Ryan did have control over himself, all the color would have drained out of him. He would have fallen to the floor, with tears quickly following. He might have been shaking too.

"_Tenth birthday..._" he thought in a scared and sad manner. He felt nauseous as he realized that this world had to be some sort of joke or illusion. He was confident about it. It wasn't a dream, he realized, but a memory, as all these events had happened before. He must have forgotten that fact in his shock.

He knew what would be going on that day if the events occuring before his eyes continued their predestined course. On this cloudy October day, he would be celebrating his tenth birthday, which would be the last shred of untainted happiness his family would ever experience. During the party, the sky would darken, and a fierce storm would disturb the waters, violently tackling the ship. And he would be taken to safety...while his brother would die.

He would have to live thorugh the same awful event again, now in the form of a memory. But why would a simple memory be so real? There was no doubt in his mind that whatever power was responsible for this was cruel at heart. Living through it as a one-time event was enough to scar him. But seeing it all again, so vividly, and not being able to change the past; to sit there, helplessly viewing the death of his own flesh and blood...that could lead to a crumbling of his own sanity...or worse...

As Travis guided his past self towards the rest of their family below deck, Ryan managed to catch a glimpse of a few fast approaching black clouds, with death and sadness and despair trailing not far behind. At the sight of them, Ryan felt like crying. He wanted, and needed to cry. But he could not cry.

**(-o-)**

Lillian Trouleway couldn't keep it up any longer. She had been up for the past forty-eight hours, worring for the wellbeing of her son every waking minute. And now she was beginning to lose the fight against the heavy force of fatigue that had claimed the rest of her body. She looked down into her lap, where her youngest child, eight years old, lay, sleeping for the last few hours. For a second, she felt a pang of jealousy that her daughter was able to get some sleep at a time like this, though it would probably be a very troubled one as she was accustomed to. However, she quickly scolded herself for the thought, as the fear of sleeping through Ryan's death, which she prayed would not happened, was much greater than her desire for rest.

Her mind was distant as heavy eyelids tried to seduce and subdue her. She was too busy thinking about recent events to notice the trail of tears that flowed freely from her son's eyes.

As her head bobbed up and down in a consistent rythm, she felt another presence in the room, and raised her eyes accordingly, only to see a dark shape within the door frame. It was her husband, Arthur, who had just come back from talking with Ryan's physician.

"Any changes with his condition soon?" she softly asked, watching as he walked toward her, a glum expression sewn onto his face.

"I...I'm afraid not. He said that...that Ryan...if he does manage to survive...then there wouldn't be any changes. In other words - Ryan's in some sort of coma. And..." His voice began to quake as he struggled to get the last few words out to his wife. "He might not come out of it for a very long time, if at all."

Her face, her hopes, her spirit sank to the ground, total realization finally sinking in. She had to accept the fact that she may never talk to her son again, that he might never see the world again, to be lost in his own mind for a long time; months, years, and even decades.

But her motherly faith in a full recovery for her son did not falter. She would not be told to just abandon Ryan and his health. She would not be forced to. She would keep on going, hope and faith as her guide; she was determined to see her son again. She would not let him go.

"I refuse to believe that," she replied very softly, almost inaudible to her husband's ears. "I believe that he will be with us very shortly. If I accept that he will stay inactive for a long time or that he will die today or tomorrow or weeks from now, then he will be, and I will have no right to be called a mother. No matter what the doctors say, I say he will live. He is my son, and I won't let him go like I did to Travis."

Arthur listened to her words in a silent awe. Even if there were no hope for Ryan, she would still continue to hope for a recovery. She had to have had a strong bond with Ryan in order to dismiss the thoughts and opinions of professionals, and with such certainty as well. The same thing could be said of Travis. And it probably applied to Tami too. Such strong bonds with their children...

But when talking to the doctor, he had automatically accepted the fact. Maybe it was an understanding that came with his analytical mind and scientific acceptance of the world. But could it have also been that he had a weak bond with Ryan, weak enough to expect him to suffer without a second thought? Had he given enough of his time and attention towards his now eldest son? And if this was true, was it too late to remedy it?

With an almost inaudible whimper, Mr. Trouleway sat in the corner of the hospital room, contemplating his bond with his son, as well as the rest of his children, twisting it over and over in his mind. And he continued to do so as the night became morn, and as the morn became day.

**E N D . C H A P T E R . T W O**


	4. Chapter 3: Blood is Thicker than Water

**Shades of the Past  
**by Kellnoa

**Chapter III  
**Blood is Thicker than Water

Out across the dark and choppy water, to the far left, resided a very large land, which its inhabitants commonly called Camreon Island. Camreon was a star-shaped island, with many different landscapes across the five main areas. There was the grassy fields of Northarim, the watery land of Eastarim, the woody Southarim, and the mountainous terrain of Westarim, where Ryan's home was located. The fifth area was the Cetrand, or Centerland, where each of the four "arms" was connected. Cetrand was also home to City Crytell, the capital of the island, as well as the headquarters for the pokémon training Crystal League _and _the card battling Sephim League.

Ryan had heard a few times in class about a theory that suggested the island was most likely artificial, since the land was arranged too perfectly to be left to chance. Some scientists even theorized that the island was built by an ancient race, backed by manuscripts found in the Agemo Ruins. But this was of course met with skepticism; most argued that it would have been impossible for them to build such a large land mass, and that it would have taken advanced technology to attempt such a feat, technology that far surpassed today's scientific advancements.

Another thing that marked the island as unusual was the area between each arm. They each had seas between them, and in those seas there resided smaller islands, placed in such a way as to mark northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest; the island eerily represented a giant compass. There were a total of thirteen islands, each with thier own unique environments and history.

One of the islands happened to be slightly northwest of the boat. Onidam was one of the largest of the thirteen islands, harboring the town of Fiarlem, two forests, including the famed Sapsick Forest, a small river, and Mount Enial, the second largest mountain on the island-continent, only surpassed by Mount Tarkeon in the Cetrand.

While a physical Ryan soaked in the new perspective of his only home, an intangible Ryan was distracted by by his own thoughts and emotions about this whole situation. He tried to move his arm in a futile attempt to calm himself, but it only continued to grasp the rail in the "reality", only moving when it received commands that were not there. And it made him wonder about how this would prove useful in the near future. _He _would be reaching out with those arms, but he wouldn't. And that angered him to the point where he just wanted to scream in fury and torment, never to stop. But it still had no effect.

"Stop it! Whoever is doing this, just STOP IT! What kind of SICK joke is this, anyway!" He lashed out at nothing with an angry tongue, but it proved to have no effect on anything.

A firm hand grasped his shoulder, forcefully causing Ryan to spin one hundred and eighty degrees. He stopped to stare at Travis' face, framed by dark brown hair adn set with an angry expression. Or what appeared to be an angry one. Ryan would have truly been scared if it weren't for Travis' hazel eyes, which in them cancelled out the facial cast, as they were brimming with pride for him, and him only. It surprised him because Travis hardly let anything he felt show there, through the so-called "windows to the soul". But that simple act of lowering that shield for him just showed the deep connection they had with each other.

"Tenth birthday, huh?" he half asked, half stated, as he fished his hand inside the cluttered mess he kept in his teal backpack. "In just three short years," he began as he withdrew his hand from there, along with a box wrapped in brown paper, "I'll have to drag you along with me across the island, giving you tips and such." He handed the brown box to Ryan, who immediately guessed that it was his gift.

Travis had called a week earlier, claiming that he had the "ultimate gift" for Ryan. And it had been a week of anticipation for his birthday to arrive, so that he could not only see his brother again, but so he could finally discover this "ultimate gift".

That was why his face fell when he held the packaged in his hand. It was a small box, about twenty centimeters in length and width, and thirty centimeters in height. It was crudely wrapped in a crumpled piece of brown paper, most likely wrapped from a paper grocery bag. The only thing that made it the least bit interesting were little black spiral designs that littered the surface. The only thing that marked the box unusual was how heavy it was. Other than that, Ryan couldn't see what was so special about it.

But Travis wasn't known to make promises he wouldn't keep, and today wasn't an exception. With a heated fervor, he quickly tore at the paper, only to find an ordinary brown box beneath. That didn't stop the boy though as he attempted to pry the top lid open. And once that was done, he looked inside the box, and realized what his brother meant. It was the moment when Ryan clearly understood the phrase, "Don't judge a book by its cover".

It was an egg! A glorious, genuine pokémon egg, with a real pokémon inside!

The egg was covered in a lavender shell, literally wrapped in a menagerie of maroon circles, some fat and some thin. When Ryan lifted the heavy object in his hand, the shell felt rough and warm to the touch. It was a perfect egg, with a perfect pokémon who would become his first.

But something marked it different from the other pokémon eggs Ryan had seen, whether on television or in person. In the exact middle of the egg, running horizontally, were strange symbols that were seemingly engraved into the shell. They looked like some form of ancient writing, like runes. They didn't seem to affect the egg in any other way, but they sure were unusual to find on the object.

"Ho-how did...I mean...why? How'd you get this, and why for me?" he managed to say in his stunned silence.

"I knew you'd want a pokémon; you always wanted one. And when I found this egg a few weeks ago, I thought it was the perfect chance to get you your first pokémon. In my opinion, it's never too late to get a head start, despite what the rules say." A smirk quickly followed Travis' explanation before he spoke again. "I told you that it was the ultimate gift. Fun's not over yet, though. Take another look inside."

Ryan noticed the gleam in his brother's eye before he looked back inside the box, egg still in hand. Inside were six objects all rolling around the bottom. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, enough to tuck the egg safely without having to worry of it rolling into the sea, and with his free hand, deposited it inside the box. When he withdrew his hand, the objects rested in his palm.

"Pokéballs too!" Ryan scuttled over to his big brother and gave him a hug of gratitude for what he had done. "I can't believe this...thank you."

Another look at the pokéballs revealed that these were special. They were custom made, as indicated by their black and white color instead of the standard red and white, with a gray crescent moon engraved at the top half of the ball.

"Just remember that you can't legally use that pokémon or those pokéballs to battle in the league 'till you're thirteen. Otherwise the police force will lock you up for training underage."

"Like that'll ever happen," Travis finished, low enough for only him to hear, referring to Camreon's lack of a good, efficient police force, unlike those of the lands far away, like the Johko and Kamo or whatever.

His words nevertheless went unheard, as Ryan was too busy pressing the white button on the pokéball, causing it to expand to a comfortable size in his palm, before pressing it again to watch it shrink. Then he would repeat the process; it was very amusing.

Ryan glanced up towards his big brother. The gifts he had given him were rare. Not the rarity of finding an egg as unique as the one he now owned, or rare in the case of his personalized pokéballs. They were rare in that they were given to him by his brother. He knew that not many brothers would go out of their way this much just to please their younger siblings. And even if they did, most likely it was to just get a cheap sense of affection from them, as well as a false sense of a clean conscience.

But Travis...he was different. He went out of the way for his brother and sister almost all the time. And when he said or did something to or for them, he didn't just do it because it was right. No, he did it because he meant in. And having a relationship in which the persons involved are sincere about what they do, going to the farthest limits for the other - it was priceless.

So, looking up at his brother, Ryan couldn't help but feel a large sense of admiration toward the older sibling.

At least the non-physical Ryan had gotten the hug that he wanted to give.

**(-o-)**

Armed with knowledge that surpassed the present, Ryan's only option was to look on in fear at the aggravated waves, their natural color of a calming blue replaced with a spiteful black. He watched as they pounded high against the sides of the ship, not high enough that it would reach the deck, but high enough to make one uncomfortable. Accompanying the waves was a sea of blackened clouds that brought a steady downpour of rain.

Turning his sight away form the ominous weather, he focused on the room his bodily self had chosen to wait out the storm. It was a small room with no artificial light, just the little light from the storm that managed to creep in through the window. There were faint outlines of boxes in the room, and by the stale and musty stink of the air, they had probably been there for some time. The strange heat just seemed to make it even more distinct. But who cared about the smell or temperature of a room, when the outcome of your own family's life was at stake?

That was the question that circled inside the thoughts of Ryan repeatedly. Why was he so foolish back then? Why did he come to this room? Why hadn't he just gone to the guestroom on the boat all those years ago?

Because he was scared. That's why.

he was scared of the fierce lightening that piered the sky in quick bursts, along with the loud boom of the thunder, which was loud enough to signal the end of the world. And that heavy rain with the steep steps leading below deck...forget it. Instead, he had bolted into the nearest room until it was safe enough to get back to his family. But being two years older, he knew now that there were much more things to be scared of than something like a tempest. Such as being scared as to lose a sibling who also happens to be your best friend. And being robbed of happiness, doomed to grieve and suffer for a long time, and agonizing over the fact that you can't change the past.

One of the thoughts that passed through his mind was the slippery set of stairs that led below deck. It was so long ago that he feared that the floor was too slippery, that he would slip. He'd slip, and then he'd fall. He'd fall down all those steps, each one breaking a bone here and opening a wound there. He would cry out in pain as gravity would pull him along, and by the time he would reach the bottom of the stairs, he'd stop. Not just stopping when there were no more steps left. He would stop breathing. His heart would stop beating. His brian would stop functioning. He would stop living.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it would have been a much better fate if he had died. He would rest in peace, while the others would be the ones to suffer and agonize over his death. He would narrowly escape from the grief that now poisoned his life; he would be free. But what of his family? They would still go through the same troubles that they did today. He didn't want his family to suffer. Not like Travis allowed.

If only he had known back then that running into the nearest room as a reaction to fear would lead to a much worse fate than death. For if he had known, he probably would have taken his chances with the stairs.

Ryan snapped out of his thoughts of mental abuse in time to realize that the light was starting to get dimmer and his vision was starting to fade away. That was another factor. He had fallen asleep in that room as well. He couldn't figure out why, he just did. Maybe if he hadn't fallen asleep...

With his own eyelids closed, blocking his only link with this world, Ryan could only agonize over these mistakes that he had made in the past, and figure out the different outcomes of his life if he had not made them. Either that, or he could wait anxiously for the inevitable.

"_Maybe if I hadn't..._"

**(-o-)**

"Ouch! My hand," cried Mrs. Trouleway as she yanked her hand out of the tightened grip of her son. It took a few seconds before she realized the source of the pressure. Even with the absence of her hand, Ryan's right hand remained balled into a fist, one so tight that the knuckes became whiter than the paleness that covered his entire arm. "My...oh, my..."

She looked up at his face to discover that his mouth was wide open, closing occasionally; he appeared to be having trouble breathing. In addition, his nose flared wildly in either excitement or panic; she couldn't tell.

She felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, a powerful shock overcoming her. She felt a bottomless joy for the first few moments, believing that her faith in a recovery of her son had helped him to survive. Her vision blurred as they became too much to hold back, but those tears of joy quickly turned to tears of panic when she saw the real picture.

His eyes. His eyes; they were wide open, glazed over and distant, as if watching something else. They were filled with fear and pain, blinding the real world in which he lay sick.

"Nurse! NURSE!" She hollered into the hallway as she made her way to the side of his bed. She placed her palm on his chest to calm him down, but it was a vain attempt. Instead, he writhed in pain even more, and she quickly withdrew her hand, scared that she would induce worse symptoms.

It only took a few seconds for two nurses and a doctor to enter the room, Tami and Mr. Trouleway close behind. They all stopped in the doorway, viewing the strange scene that was happening at that moment. As the medical personnel proceeded to leave the room in search of the right equipment to use, the last two family members quickly attended the mother's side, trying in small, futile attempts to calm Ryan down and bring him to his senses.

"Mama, what happened? What's happening to Ryan?" questioned Tami, terror filling her voice.

"I-I don't know. I was ju-u-ust sitting there, a-and t-then..." She couldn't finish as she completely broke down, throwing herself over her son's body, hugging and crying as the same time. Tami repeated the process at the same time, while Mr. Trouleway watched, having no clude as to what he should do.

**(-o-)**

Ryan awoke with a start as he was wildly flung into one of the many piles of boxes, knocking most of them down about him. Luckily, most of them were empty.

Sill half-asleep, and thinking that he was still dreaming, the boy attempted to stand up, only to be pushed back down again as the ship rose violently into the air, only to come crashing down. After that, the ship remained level, at least as level as it could be with tons of water smashing into the hull, for a certain amount of time for which he could finally stand. A clap of thunder finally woke him fully, and realizing that he was not dreaming, he slowly made his way to the tiny window of the room, only to gasp in shock and fright.

The storm had gotten considerably worse during his short slumber. The waves seemed to be very rough and very dangerous. Up above, lightning could be seen flashing in quick bursts, lighting up the solar night. The forks of electricity were also followed by a dull, rolling sound of thunder which was strangely difficult to discern over the fierce howling of the wind.

This frightening scene made Ryan yearn to be with his family, but it seemed impossible to leave the safety of the room without killing yourself out there. In the instant this reasoning came and went, Ryan found himself on the other side of the door, right in the middle of nature's temper. Grabbing onto the slick railing for dear life, he became quickly drenched with a combination of the high waters and the heavy rain. The wind seemed to work against him as he began to slide back towards the end of the boat on the wet floor. In the back and front of his mind, he knew he was doomed.

"HELP!" he screamed, the sound swallowed up by the harshness of the weather. He continued to slide, and a look behind him revealed that he didn't have long before he would perish in the sea. The only option was to let go. it was an idea that was not appealing to him, but like a mouse backed up into the corner, with a cat right in front of it, there is no choice but to hope that the death was quick. Either that, or hope that a dog would come to your rescue.

"Hiya!" Or a pokémon.

Ryan looked up in a heartbeat, and found himself staring into a large, red reflection of himself. Looking at its source, Ryan identified the pokémon in front as being Torrent, his brother's staryu.

"Torrent, bring Ryan up to me!" came a voice over the storm, though sounding very distant.

Staryu obeyed the command as she slipped one of its appendages between Ryan's arm. It gave a confirmation, allowing Ryan to tighten his hold against the water pokémon. He nearly slipped, and almost lost hold of the rubbery skin, but he kept a firm grip on her.

With a mighty leap, the staryu jumped a few feet into the air, only to be blown back a bit as she fought against the wind. Instead of going forward, Staryu landed a few feet back from its original position, dangerously close to the end of the boat, where the water engulfed a large part of the floor. Ryan began to panic when he saw that the weather was too strong, and would take its toll on both of them within seconds.

"Torrent! Try a Rapid Spin and Water Gun combo!" Ryan could barely hear him over the loud roll of thunder that had just occurred.

"Hiya!" she replied as Torrent tried to jump up into the air again. However, this time she fired two powerful jets of water against the floor of the ship. Fired at an angle, the pokémon and human were propelled high and forward into the air, against the wind and the rain. In mid-leap, Ryan wrapped his arms and legs around her slender body as Torrent began to rapidly spin through the air. It was slow due to the added weight and position of carrying Ryan, but it helped to make staryu more aerodynamic, as she was able to go forward more without the wind pushing against her as much.

As soon as the added weight began to take her toll, Torrent would make a quick land on any surface, before jumping into the air and performing another Rapid Spin attack. She would repeat this process until Ryan was in the safety of Travis' arms.

It took about twenty exhausting minutes before Torrent and Ryan finally made it to the opposite end of the boat. As soon as Travis relieved Torrent of Ryan, she collapsed on the floor, beginning to slide toward the other side of the boat.

Giving Torrent a word of thanks, he quickly retrieved her with the pokéball he held in one of his hands. Securing it safely onto his belt, he used both hands to firmly grasp onto Ryan, unaware that his younger brother had vomited over his shoulder, caused by the almost non-stop spinning for his rescue.

"Travis," he managed to squeeze out weakly, fear and fatigue taking its toll on his young self.

"Just be quiet Ryan. go to sleep if you want to. Everything's going to be ok - ah!" As he made his way back towards the stairs, he slipped on the water, causing him to slip and slide down the path he walked. Waves after waves of water tried to bring and keep him down, but he refused to do so, trying to get up every step of the way. And he refused to give up his own brother, knowing that his life was just as important as his own, if not more so, and that if Ryan would die here, then he would too.

It was a difficult "walk", but Travis could finally see the stairs that led to the rooms below, one of them containing his own family. He knew he should have been down there, as his father and the captain of the ship had volunteered to go search for Ryan. But he had snuck off instead. If he ever got through this alive, he was definitely going to get it from his parents.

The wind made a sudden change in direction, setting the blunt of its power against Travis' progress. Because of this sudden shift in air, the waves began to get much rougher, and the ship began to bounce even more. More thunder and lightning bared themselves, surprising the determined teenager. Balancing against the slick wall, he was close enough to see the bottom of the stairwell, where his father stood, half in and half out, looking for any sign of his two sons.

"Dad!"

Mr. Trouleway looked desperately in his direction. "Travis! Do you have Ryan!"

"Yeah! He nearly drowned near the back of the boat! Help me get him inside!"

**(-o-)**

Inside, Ryan felt lonely and helpless as he watched the horrible scene unfold before him. He could do nothing to help, not even lift a finger. He couldn't act, he couldn't warn, he couldn't even offer encouragement, anything that could alter the inevitable outcome of this situation. And the worst of it was that it was all his fault that he had placed his family into the current position they were in now. And, he guessed, this was his punishment.

Ryan, being held over his brother's shoulder, and unaffected by the rescue, had the perfect view of what was happening behind his brother's back. And it was coming fast.

"The wave, Travis. The wave."

**(-o-)**

Mr. Trouleway's eyes widened as he saw the horrible danger that was quickly coming towards the three of them. "Travis! BEHIND YOU!"

"What!" he inquired as he stole a glance over his shoulder. Only to glance again.

A large swell of water was racing down the entire corridor, coming on fast tot he stair for which he hadn't even begun to descend.

As Travis watched on, he realized that he had a critical decision to make. He could attempt to carry his brother and descend the stairs as quickly as he could, but there was a high possibility that they would not be able to make it to ther door in time. Then there was the option of dropping Ryan and saving his own life. But he couldn't do that to his own flesh and blood. It would have been a cowardly thing to do, and Ryan's death would be on his shoulders for the rest of his life. And the third option...he did say that Ryan's life was more important than his own.

"Ryan," he began, as he took his brother off of his shoulders, holding him in front of himself with adrenaline-filled arms. "I'm so sorry...I don't want to leave you, but..."

**(-o-)**

"Travis, just leave me here! You're of more use to the family! Just go!" A silent Ryan spoke these words. They refused to perform their original purpose, and instead just remained inside the confines of his own mind.

Ryan could clearly see the decision-making skills that Travis implemented, revealed in his eyes and in the expression on his face. But he alrady knew the final decision that would be made. And it seemed like that decision had been made again. Ryan let out a silent scream.

"DAD! CATCH HIM!" came the call as Travis tossed Ryan's limp body just over the stairs. Tumbling through the air, Ryan had no sense of direction or destination. During his flight, even he forgot what was happening, as that thought of him falling down the stairs re-surfaced, bringing panic again. Both the Ryan inside and the Ryan outside were screaming.

Ryan collided with his dad, who was propelled to the opposite wall next to the open door, where he slid down to the ground, stunned by the impact. Ryan had a good view of the top of the stairwell, watching as Travis desperately tried to make it down the stairs, while trying to keep his balance on the slippery steps. Just behind him, he could see a wall of water right above the stairs, trying to make its way into the floors below.

Ryan was suddenly yanked though the open door, along with his stunned dad, most likely by the captain and the crew. They then quickly shut the door, thinking that everyone had made it isnide. Little did they realize that there was one person that was trapped on the other side, vulnerable to attack from the wrath of the sea.

The boy could distinctly hear a dull thud against the steel door, followed by a great crash. Without much thought, Ryan could easily figure out that the water had reached the door, with Travis under the weight. Right up agains the small, round glass, his face could be seen, staring at all the safe people inside. Blood framed his head, somehow not easily washed away by the seawater. And then his face was gone.

Ryan stared in a stunned silence at the door, at the last image of his brother. His eyes were wide, shock, fear, and anger shining from them. His mouth gaped open as if trying to yell one last goodbye, or one last cry for help. And the blood outlining the contours of his head...it was a gruesome sight, one that Ryan would continue to see both in his nightmares and in the ghost of his brother.

With his father still stunned, and his mother and sister crying at the image on the door and the death of a family member engraved in their hearts, Ryan, both inside and out, just continued to stare at the door, unable to believe what had just transpired had been the result of their actions.

**(-o-)**

"RYAN! STOP PLAYING AROUND AND WAKE UP!" screamed a frantic mother as she struggled to free herself form the grip of her husband and another doctor. Many nurses and a few doctors surrounded her son's hospital bed, trying different techniques to rouse him from the shock that he seemed to be experiencing. But she knew that it wouldn't work. He needed his mother. Only she would be able to heal him.

"Let. Me. Go!" she cried as she tore away from their grip, only to be bound by some of the doctors in the room. She struggled against them all, but she was outnumbered four to one, and her chances of escape were low. Those chances were reduced even more when one of the doctors gave her a sedative to calm her down, and perhaps even make her fall asleep.

While this was going on, a small collection of nurses watched the monitors of electroencephalographs and the electrocardiographs, measuring the brain activity and heart rate accordingly. They both were going off the scale, suggesting that it must be something within the boy's mind to induce such a response.

They were also attempting to execute every medical technique possible to wake him from the shock he was experiencing, as could be told by the facial expression that had frozen on his face. But nothing seemed to work, even with all the medication they gave him intravenously. Nothing seemed to help.

One of the doctors, after examining the different machinery, and examining Ryan, came over to the other side of the room to address the family.

"Wha-what is happening to my son?" Mrs. Trouleway stammered, the hint of a slur apparent in her speech.

"We're trying to do everything we can to bring him back. But nothing we try is working. All we know is that his body is at a heightened state of alertness. His brain activity is much more active than it should be for one in a coma, his heart and breathing rate have significantly increased, and adrenaline is being released; it's almost as if her were getting ready to counter a danger that isn't really there. He-" He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes focusing on the monitor that displayed Ryan's bodily statistics. And it wasn't just him, but all the eyes in the room, including the nurses, doctors, and Trouleways, all fixated on that tiny screen. But they didn't even have to glance in that direction to know what had just happened. That single, piercing monotone note revealed all.

One of the doctors checked Ryan's wrist for a pulse. Seconds later, he sadly shook his head, gently placing the arm on the sheets.

Tami tucked herself into her father's chest, getting it all soaked, in an effort to find security and comfort. Mr. Trouleway just looked away from everyone, out towards the window, his eyes glazed, but tears absent. And Mrs. Trouleway, though in a dazed state, grabbed her son's head, hugging it to her chest, sobbing at her loss.

Ryan had just died.

**E N D , C H A P T E R . T H R E E**


	5. Chapter 4: A Shadow of the Past

**Shades of the Past  
**by Kellnoa

**Chapter IV  
**A Shadow of the Past

The room had once been filled with the soft sobbing of a mother and daughter, the thoughts of a father, and the emotions and unity of a family. Though it was a gloomy tone, it was much preferred over the air of uncomfortable silence that hung in the room despite the presence of several people, only broken by one, clear solid note that tore down faith and crushed any trace of hope. A soul had been taken from a family, lost to the strong hands of Fate. In return, Fate had given them the pain and sorrows that accompanied a death. It was an unjust bargain that many would refuse to take, yet would be forced to reluctantly accept. But with the fact that this had been the second sibling lost, and within two years at that, it was a bargain that was not only unfair, but also unbearable.

Tearing her face away from the security of her father's chest, Tami sought a view of her now deceased brother. She couldn't stand to see the finality of the look on his face. His eyes wide open and never blinking, his mouth somewhat agape, all plastered on a featureless paled head that, at that moment, seemed old and aged. She found it hard to believe that this - this shell - had once been her own brother that she often turned to in times of need. She found it hard to believe that this relative was now still, both on the inside and out, never to wake again, that this body was once alive and functional. Sadly, however, she didn't find it hard to believe how similar the body was to Travis' own face, pressed against that door so long ago.

A sudden movement from across the room now caught her attention. It was one of the many nurses that simply stood there, horrified at the loss of life in their attempt to save it, a sense of failure freezing them in their tracks. She watched as one nurse, the first to move in what seemed like an eternity, made her way towards the side of Ryan's bed. A sickened look momentarily crossed her face as she took a quick glance at the face of the shell, before taking the white sheets of the bed in hand, placing it over the head of Ryan. After this sign of the medical acceptance of death, she quietly exited the room. At that moment, Tami despised her.

One by one, everyone left, until all that remained were the immediate members of the family. But they could neither do, nor say, anything. Their minds were blank, but their hearts, overflowing with an aching pain, wept.

**(-o-)**

The scene around him had suddenly frozen; not a sound was made, not an action taken. The roar of the storm, thunder, rain, wind, sea and all, as well as the frightened screams and tears, had halted, replaced by the sound of his own ragged breathing. The people scurrying into corners or pounding against the door; the rough rocking of the boat; they had all ceased as well. Within seconds, the last scene of this mental movie began to fade away into the consuming darkness, leaving behind a young boy sprawled on an invisible ground.

Ryan was trapped in a state of shock, unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed, a second death of his brother. His mind was too far gone to realize that he was alone, the sole survivor of his ordeal, too shocked to realize that he could move again. He was too shocked to find that he was now inhabiting a domain devoid of sound, light, or any signs of life itself. Completely isolated from the world, he was left to replay in his mind the information that had just been displayed right before his eyes.

The only problem was that his thoughts were still focused on that one moment that had changed his life forever. It was inescapable, despite how many times he tried to push it from his mind or place it behind him. Attempting to do so only made it more prominent in his mind, closing in around him, emotionally suffocating him. Those memories...those ghosts...they refused to make their presence unknown. They would not give up; but as for him...he was not so sure.

In the darkness, there came a soft voice. "Ry?"

Ryan subconsciously stiffened at the name. It couldn't be...

"Ry?" The voice just seemed to float in the air, coming from both one direction and all directions. There was no way of telling where the voice had originated from, but as to whom it belonged...that was a different story. It was a voice that Ryan knew all too well. It was different, yet all too familiar at the same time.

Ryan, without lifting his head, raised his wide eyes towards a silhouette, a shape a shade lighter than the black void, vaguely familiar. But as it approached, details began to emerge from the enveloping darkness. One thing that was immediately apparent about the "human", as one could once call him in the past, was that he was completely soaked, literally dripping with water. And though every step he took left a large trail of water behind him, he never became any drier, and still remained soaked.

Everything else about the figure was very familiar to Ryan, as he had seen him often during his dreams, or rather, nightmares, as well as from the memory that he had just viewed. Soaked mahogany hair and black blood framed the saddened and sympathetic visage that was on the figure's face, but veined hazel eyes forever wide revealed what had to be his true sentiments, both of them tainted with anger and resentment. Even in death, those eyes still betrayed him.

Coming to a stop before the figure that lay at his feet, Travis stooped low, momentarily eying the fear that his brother clearly conveyed in his exhausted state. He soon extended his clammy hands towards his brother's arms, lifting him up effortlessly so that he sat hunched over in a somewhat kneeled position. Satisfied, he then did the most surprising thing: Travis wrapped his arms around him in a gentle hug. "Ry..."

It was almost too much for Ryan to bear. He simply sat there, shivering in the embrace of cold, dead arms, making no effort whatsoever to return the act of compassion, or what appeared to be compassion. He couldn't fully grasp what was happening; this apparition, for as long as he could remember, had always been a constant reminder of his guilt, and would thus maliciously haunt and torment Ryan with every opportunity it had. Angry plays to Ryan's conscience were made through either reminders of how Travis died and what he must have felt, or offering words that would discourage any trace of happiness that Ryan would begin to feel. Travis' presence alone was enough to dampen Ryan's spirits. But never once had the ghost offered any signs of comfort or reassurance like he appeared to do so now, almost as if he were actually his brother.

After what he had gone through moments before, Ryan was willing to accept anything that was so much as slightly comforting, especially in a presence other than his own. He gradually began to sink into his brother's embrace, almost as if he were under a spell. "Travis, I-I'm..."

The phantom knew what he was about to say. Tightening his grip as he felt Ryan's body relax, he then whispered into his ear. "Ry, if you're so sorry, then why didn't you do anything?" A small smile crossed his face as he felt the body stiffen again.

"Wha...?"

Travis broke his embrace, his hands remaining firmly grasped on Ryan's arms, and faced his frightened younger brother. Gone was the sympathetic expression Travis had had seconds go, replaced by a somewhat stern and contemptuous look. "If you're so sorry, then why didn't you do anything?" He waited for an answer, but none came, and so continued in an annoyed tone of voice. "Throughout your..."experience", I noticed that you simply did nothing but sit and watch. You just observed the scene without making a single attempt to make a difference, to prevent my death. Why was that? Can you explain it to me?"

A silence settled in between the two, eventually broken by a shaken whisper. "I don't know...I-I couldn't move, I..." Ryan trailed off.

"I don't believe that for a second," the phantom responded, "as you know perfectly well that you had the ability to move. You could have performed any action that you would have liked, had you put forth the effort. In the case of this situation, it would have been appreciated if you had actually helped in getting the two of us to safety. Or rather, me, to safety, as you managed to escape unscathed."

Travis released his grip and stood. Slowly looking up into eyes filled with tiny embers of anger, Ryan tried to smuggle words in favor of his defense. But before he could, Travis stopped him, and continued as though Ryan had already spoken.

"This isn't about the memory that you were just shown!" he spat. "This is about the real incident. But if you really want to know, the reason nothing changed when you tried to act and make a difference was because you never did so two years ago. Your inability to move and change the situation just now was a reflection of you neglecting your actions, your moral duty, in the past, when help was really needed."

Travis began to walk a slow circle around Ryan, a hawk eying its prey, making the air tenser. "What I fail to understand, however, is why you were so determined to try and change the outcome of events just now. I'm thinking that during the second time around, you already knew what was going to happen. Before things began to worsen in your memory, you knew that you were going to be in a position that I was qualified in getting you out of, and that in the end, you would live, and I would die. All these years, you've been secretly wondering what would happen if you had gotten a second chance. And now that you were given that chance, you tried to alter the situation with the "good" intentions of mending the hearts of our family. Don't you agree?"

Ryan wanted to say no. He was willing to say no, feeling an urge to say it. Yet his mouth remained silent. Something deep within him restrained him from doing so. Though he felt that he had the right to say no, to defend himself in this personal prosecution, he couldn't bring himself to do so. A part of him, strangely, felt that he was doing the right thing by keeping silent, as that same part of him had taken interest in Travis' words. And almost believing it, too. Believing as though the ghostly Travis was...right."

"No answer? I guess I should continue, then." Bending down to the point where their eyes met equally, Travis continued. "What I think is that, you," he began, placing a special emphasis on "you" by pointing at Ryan, "did not try to act for the benefit of others. Our family, specifically speaking. You tried to act for the selfish benefit of you, and you alone. That's why you're second chance yielded the same outcome - because that's the type of person you are." Travis, as he talked, began to acquire a tone of resentment in his calm, restrained voice. "I say this because for the past two years, you've been going here and there with the knowledge that you were responsible for someone's death. And that knowledge is something that you, at your age, cannot handle. So when this whole scenario came about, you saw that if you could make a difference now, you could finally be relieved of that burden. Am I correct?"

"Y-yes..." Where had that come from?

"I'm glad that you're finally attempting to take part in this conversion. Really though, don't be so _naive_!" With a mild blow to the face, Ryan was sent reeling to the empty ground. Standing up, Travis began to circle around the dazed boy again, the embers of anger in his eyes now becoming a mild flame. "You selfish, ignorant little wrench! You're a fool to believe that changing a few fragments of your thoughts would make you feel better about yourself, or make mom, dad, and sis feel better! The only way that would ever happen was if you were to literally change the past! What you futilely tried to do just now would have been much more useful two years ago, when it really mattered!"

"_No...it can't be true. He's wrong. It can't be...it's his fault, not mine!_" The thought that Travis was wrong, despite how right he seemed, became Ryan's primary thought. Although part of him doubted the thought, he tried not to submit to it. He tried as hard as he could to force himself into believing that he was right, and that Travis was wrong. But can someone really believe that something is true if they have to force themselves in order to do so? Either way, he was fighting a losing battle, as the doubt within him continued to grow, even against the obstacles he placed against it.

Travis seemed to know what was on Ryan's mind. "It's no use trying to blame me for my own death!" he snapped. "I traded MY life, MY young, unfulfilled life, for your filthy one. And how do you repay me for my noble deed? By wrecking and destroying my grave, my memorial, the one thing left of me that our family has? What are you trying to do, make matters worse for them! You're a burden to our family, Trouleway. Or rather, you're a burden to our family, _Ryan_. You've disgraced the Trouleway name too much to even retain that familial status."

At that point, the force of the words being thrown at him demolished all of Ryan's emotional barriers. He, as a whole, began to accept what Travis was preaching to him. He was the cause of what his family had been forced to go through. Tears welled in his eyes as he realized that it truly was his fault for letting his brother die. For letting his mother cry, his father feeling as though he had failed his family, and Tami suffering in her sleep, something which was supposed to be a safe haven for a person. It was his fault! His stupid fault! His stupid, damned fault!

He was the burden of the family, and that burden had to be eliminated. But wasn't that done already? When that force of energy had hit that tree, pushing him over the cliff? Wasn't he dead, because he sure felt like he was at the moment.

By now, the angry flame in his eyes was roaring with life, furiously manifesting itself through Travis' heated mouth. "And to finish it off, you react to this entire situation like an ignoramus by acting as though you can't go on with life, as though you're dead when you're still alive! For your information, it isn't cute. Life is supposed to be taken seriously! Do you even realize how valuable life is, because I do! In case you don't know, there are millions of souls out there that wish for the chance at life. Those that had it - you have no idea how horrid it is to hear them, screaming and begging at the feet of no one, to return to the living. It's like a drug that they're addicted to - and always wanting more. Then there are those who've never lived - and probably never will. They know that, and yet they still yearn for a taste of it."

"I," Ryan began.

"It took me too long to realize that life isn't a right, not that. Life is a privilege, one that you have to earn, not expect to be handed down to you on a silver platter. That, or you have to be pretty damn lucky, even for a tiny second at life, let alone a full-blown one. People don't realize that it is a rare thing to live."

"Travis, I-" Ryan tried to interrupt, but Travis was already pouring his pent-up anger into his speech, and showed no signs of ceasing soon.

"But you," he trailed, his eyes darkening with anger, "you've obviously abused that privilege with the way you live now! You even went as far as to nearly taking your own life! I can't even comprehend how - how you managed to get that gift, even with luck! It's unfair to those who'll never have it, it's unfair to those that had had it and lost it, and it's unfair to me, since I was robbed of it!"

"Travis, I'm sorry!" He finally managed to get the words out, but it only added fuel to Travis' anger.

"You're sorry! Sorry for what!" he spat, restraining himself from striking another blow at Ryan. "Sorry isn't going to change the fact that I'm dead! Sorry isn't going to change the fact that our family has had to suffer everyday because of your poor judgment in situations where you are needed! Sorry isn't going to change the fact that you've been acting like an idiot for the past two years!"

"Face it! You should have been the one to go years ago! You should be where I am now; I should still be alive! You stole my dreams and aspirations, my ENTIRE life, and tossed it aside with the rest of your shit! You don't give a damn about me, about your family, or about yourself! All you care about is the helpless act that you love to deal, and the cheep pity you rake in from others!"

Ryan could only stare up as the twisted truth began to painfully bury itself inside of him, like a knife drilling into flesh. He could only stare in horror at the image of his dead brother, knowing full well that he had caused him to be this way. That he had caused unjust pain to the one that he claimed he loved. The abuse that Ryan had been forced to endure these past few years by this person now felt fight and justifiable, though it did not seem enough to compensate for what he had put his brother through.

He stared up in shock as his brother raised two fists high above his head, a mad glint in his eye. "I'll never forgive you for what you have done to me or to our family! I just want you to die and suffer as I have, you bastard!" With that said, Travis put all his strength and weight into bringing down his balled fists onto the face of a frozen Ryan.

**(-o-)**

Standing next to her brother's deathbed, Tami could do nothing more than stare at the blinding white sheet that provided a thin barrier between the living and the dead. Drops of sorrow found their way from her eyes to that sheet as she thought about all the times that they had spent together, both with and without Travis. She had often heard that thinking about happy times spent with a person would greatly heal the pain. But she didn't feel healed. As she thought about those times, she felt empty, as though there were a void in her. And she could feel with a pained fear that, as time went on, the void would always be there as a constant reminder of what she had lost, even if it diminished in size. The pain the void brought about increased as she realized that there would be no more happy times with her brother, that she was now the oldest living child, left alone in the remains of a ruin called family.

In the back of her eight-year old mind, she also thought about how it didn't make any sense that Ryan would die in what felt like a moment to her. Just less than a week ago, he was active and healthy. Nothing had happened to him while he was here, in the hospital. He was perfectly fine, in a sense. She thought that he would recover, as she hadn't immediately lost him like she had lost Travis. But yet, he had left, leaving behind this shell of a body. But where did he leave to; where did he go? He was there, in that body, and then he wasn't. For the first time, she was viewing a body that was empty, a blank. Where could all of his memories and thoughts, his personality and emotions, everything that she had assumed was rare and precious, have gone? It just didn't make any sense that they would simply disappear, to be deleted.

"Ryan...I wish you were still alive," she whispered, placing a hand on his sheets, ignoring what was beneath, to brush away the tears that had soaked into the fabric.

Without warning, the sheets flew up into the air, exposing the corpse of Ryan, eyes still wide, and mouth still open. But instead of lying on the bed in an eerie silence, it sat straight up, screaming with all its new breath.

Tami screamed as she watched the dead act like the living. She pressed her back against the wall, and although she could go no farther, she wanted to get as far away as she could. Her mind, though easily overcome by reflexes, was racing with questions and emotions. Rationalization tried to claw its way toward her consciousness, but the event that was happening before her roughly pushed it back down. Here was her brother, presumed dead, screaming at the top of his lungs, a symptom of the living! It just wasn't possible!

In the first few seconds of the strange duet of screams, two figures rushed into the little hospital room, and froze in their tracks. One of them, Arthur Trouleway, nearly faltered as soon as he saw the scene, the effects of the surprise of the situation taking full force. The second, a physician, panicked at first, but years of medical training vanquished it in a heartbeat, his rational mind already searching for an explanation of the supposed "resurrection". His mind finally stopped on two words, though the results were highly irrational despite his search. Though he wasn't a religious man, it was easy to discern between the two, as he felt the answer in his heart.

It was a miracle.

**E N D . C H A P T E R . F O U R**


End file.
